


(you need me to) get it together

by orphan_account



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, i love drake, rushed ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 06:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11269815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Perhaps hiring possibly the only person up—for lack of a better word—for the job as his and Sullivan’s researcher was certainly not the best decision Sam had come to. Then again, he had made fairly questionable decisions in the past, so maybe this wouldn’t be among the more exceedingly consequential kind.He had just hoped this one choice wouldn’t come to bite him in the ass.And in all truth, in the year he’d gotten to know the young, pretty, resourceful, intelligent and vaguely tiny Y/N, it hasn’t backfired quite yet.Not that it meant that day would never come, of course. He still kind of is anticipating it.





	(you need me to) get it together

Perhaps hiring possibly the only person up—for lack of a better word—for the job as his and Sullivan’s researcher was certainly not the best decision Sam had come to. Then again, he had made fairly questionable decisions in the past, so maybe this wouldn’t be among the more exceedingly consequential kind.

He had just hoped this one choice wouldn’t come to bite him in the ass.

And in all truth, in the year he’d gotten to know the young, pretty, resourceful, intelligent and vaguely _tiny_ Y/N, it hasn’t backfired quite yet.

Not that it meant that day would never come, of course. He still kind of is anticipating it.

His mind retraces back to Y/N’s first day on the job. Sullivan had showed her around the office that they had managed get their hands on with the couple bucks they had. When Sam stepped into the space of what would be her little research space, he guessed that she’d already been briefed about the details of their latest historical find, because there she was, prepared to step on top of her desk chair to reach for a book on a shelf clearly too high for her to reach.

Sam grinned at the sight. “Glad you’re making use of the furniture, kid,” he said from the door, immediately catching her attention.

Her cheeks flushed a light shade of pink and she smiled sheepishly. “Bookshelves don’t tend to adhere to small folk like me.”

“I can see that.” He sauntered over to the shelves as she backed away from the desk chair to give him space. “Which one?” he said, gesturing to the books.

“ _Pilgrims of the Seventeenth Century,_ ” she answered.

He easily reached up and plucked the hardback tome from the shelf, handing it to her with a hint of an amused grin that she could hardly return.

“Thank you,” she said, moving to flip through it.

He shrugged. “Hey, we’re all about making your job easier,” he proudly declared.

Y/N raised her brow, grinning herself. “Are you?”

He held her stare in return. A slow grin formed on his lips. He threw her a wink, just before turning and beckoning toward the shelves of books set at the corner of the room. “I take it Sullivan’s told you about our current expedition?”

“Ah, vaguely,” she replied. “Spaniard fleet, lost treasure, mid-seventeenth century?”

He nodded along. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

She laughed. “Don’t worry; I’ll read up on it. I’d say I catch onto things pretty quickly.”

“I have no doubt about it.” He took a step backward, toward the door. “Guess I’ll leave you to it, then?”

She only smiled and uttered a small “See you later” before he left the room with a rather vague, yet hilariously ironic first impression of her.

He liked her already.

It had taken a decent enough time (that being a matter of a few months) to comprehend just how much he grew to truly admire his researcher and protegée. Y/N wasn’t kidding when she claimed that she catches onto things rather quickly. This included making herself comfortable in the presence of her bosses no matter what the situation. With her witty remarks and the immediate quip on her tongue when she’s the target of a tease, she has earned a lot of laughs out of him and Sullivan. Hell, she had really only met Nathan and Elena once, and they were immediately charmed.

Of course, their line of business required educating Y/N in more ways than one. She had been wary, of course, but she is undoubtedly generous in spirit and enthusiasm. Yet despite her confidence in herself and Sam’s own confidence in her, it wasn’t as if she’d never encountered trouble. The first time she’d been caught in the middle of the dangers was the first time he’d ever seen her truly vulnerable.

He sat with her in the aftermath in the Luzon rainforest, tending to her wounds when they came to a clearing. Her wounds were minor—a slight grazing on her thigh propped up on a fallen log. He tried his best to be gentle, but if she felt any pain, he couldn’t tell. Yet she was silent, staring off into the trees in the distance.

After finishing the knot on the makeshift tourniquet torn off of his shirt, he spoke up. “I don’t blame ya if you want out, you know.”

Maybe he should’ve been more careful with his choice of words, because when she turned to look at him, she looked as if what he said was bizarre beyond reason. She chuckled, softly and short. “I don’t want out.”

Sam’s brows knitted together. Y/N shifted in her seat, wincing slightly as she moved to plant her foot back onto the ground. He reached out to help her. “See, thing is, kid,” he said pointedly, “this isn’t something you can just get used to.”

She sucked in a breath. “Yeah, I know that,” she insisted. She paused then, the curve of her lips turning upwards. “That’s why I can count on you to have my back. Right?”

He could only analyze her in the moment. A few inches off from bleeding out, dirtied from head to toe. The smile reaching up to her eyes, just as assuring and persistent as it had been the first time they’d met. Suddenly he was at fault with himself, knowing that if anything were to happen—if the most recent of events had occurred the slightest bit different. But he knew that as long as he was still living and breathing, by some by God luck that had blessed the Drakes, she would be living and breathing as well.

So he smiled back at her. “Cross my heart,” he swore.

Her smile grew wider. “Good. Now, where to next?”

Of course, it had taken her more ventures from country to country and even more life-or-death situations before she was more asserted in their swing of things. “You guys are crazy as hell,” she had once said.

“Well, you’re officially part of our team now, crazy,” Sullivan had replied.

Now, here are they are, caught up in the usual wild goosechase surrounding long lost French treasure. He, Sully, and Y/N had taken a stop in Barcelona to scrounge up details about the goldmine. It was a party—not only consisting of conmen and thieves such as themselves, but also legitimate museum officiates and archaeologists. Needless to say, they were treading on dangerously thin ice.

But it had been Y/N who volunteered to be the one to collect the necessary intel. She has grown indefinitely smart and slick in her ways, all only a year in the making. Analyzing from a far corner of the room, aside from making conversation with others himself, Sam wondered just how much one girl could surprise him.

Now here they are in a hotel room, celebratory liquor downed. Sullivan had since retired to his room for the night, grumbling about the busy day they had ahead of them tomorrow. Sam and Y/N have been talking for the past half-hour or so, chatting about the memorable events of their lives before she’d been hired. He starts off little by little: silly stories from the orphanage involving Nathan and the bunny, their time in Cartagena as a meager yet vaguely experienced 19-year-old, all the way to last year’s fiasco in Libertalia.

Y/N is laughing by the end, her cheeks still slightly flushed from the alcohol, the dim lights of the room reflecting off her face as if she is glowing.

Sam finds himself staring once more. It’s hard not to. He has always found her attractive. She makes trekking along in a jungle look attractive. But in this particular moment, still dressed in her evening gown and hair and makeup done up, despite a little mussed, she is all kinds of attractive. Beautiful, alluring, cute. He hardly notices the swell in his chest.

“You're adorable,” he blurts out when she is back up on her feet and reenacting a troubling scenario in her university days.

She pauses in her actions, dropping her arms to her sides and frowning. “Don’t say that.”

He laughs, a hand on his chin and an arm crossed over his torso. “Why not?”

She points an accusing finger at him. “I saw the way you were ogling me earlier; that-that is not perceived as you seeing me ‘adorable,’ or whatever…”

“But you _are_ adorable.”

“No, no. I am _sexy_ ,” she insists. “I-I am R-rated sexy.”

Sam nods along with her, grinning at her antics.

Then she blinks at him. He raises his brow, her stare boring into his. He maintains his amused stature, but she does not respond the same way. Then, she moves quickly: her hands on his shoulders, climbing into his lap and straddling him.

She leans in slowly, eyes heavy and pain-stakingly lustful. He doesn’t stop her. Hell, he can’t find the will to. Is this wrong? She _works_ for him. She is only a mere two or three years out of university. But then he is suddenly aware of his hands on her hips, over the skirts hugging the curves of her body. He keeps his gaze locked on hers until he threw caution to the wind.

Their lips meet. He’d be lying if he declares that _she_ is the eager one, but she takes the lead for now. Her fingers curls around the base of his neck, grazing the line of his jaw. She whimpers into his mouth when he squeezes her hip and pulled her closer. The sound pushes him; he steals the reigns, a hand travelling up her body and into her hair. He moves slowly, sliding his tongue between her lips and losing himself in the taste of mint and champagne and lip balm. A taste that’s so distinctly _her_ he soon finds himself intoxicated and addicted.

Soon, their nightly adventures take a common turn and even sooner without the alcohol. And it’s endearing, really, how the slightest of his touch can send a tremor through her body. How his mouth on the spot on the underside of her jaw can elicit such a whimper. How she clamps a hand over her mouth to cut her shriek short when his tongue is on her. He finds himself impossibly linked to her in the most superficial way possible that he eventually finds himself pondering every step leading up to their affair.

He has known he liked her ever since she tossed that all-knowing smile in his direction the first time they’d spoken. He has known he admired her the first time she’d babbled on passionately about her research and what she managed to scrounge up. He has known he might _feel_ something for her the second she promised that she’d have his back when he was on his ass and just about to bleed to death if not for her.

He’s never felt this way about a woman before—much less about someone near half his age and someone who he’d _hired_ as a researcher.

Christ.

He’s never felt so goddamn scared in his life.

Being who he is, Sam keeps their little arrangement going even though he’s too much of a commitment flight risk and she’s too young and… He’s too far gone in her touch and taste and _smile_ that he can’t see himself ever going back.

They’re almost a month into their current case when Sullivan springs up the topic of Sam’s lingering gaze on their researcher.

“You know, more often than I’d like to admit, I somehow get the misfortune of being right next door to your room. Walls ain’t as thin as you think, kid,” the older man says, a certain mischievous gleam in his stare and smugness in the crooked purse of his mouth.

Sam nearly chokes on his coffee.

“And you might think I’m ahead of my prime, but I know that look when I see it,” Sully continues.

Sam clears his throat, placing the paper cup onto the quaint tabletop. “Yeah? What look is that?”

“Don’t play coy. I’ll tell ya, it’s the same look your brother had on his face with Elena.”

There is a lump in Sam’s throat—such an uncommon thing for a guy with something always on the tip of his tongue. “That’s kinda overstating things a bit now, isn’t it?” he finds himself inquiring.

The older man raises his eyebrows. “You’re trying to tell me this ain’t the same case?”

“Yeah! I mean—no! I-” Sully gives him a look. Sam only laughs again, leaning back in his seat and slipping a cigarette from his pocket. “Oh, come on, Sullivan. She’s a kid. She works for us.”

“Sam.”

He’s talking, babbling, fumbling to light his cigarette. “-and sure, we’ve had a couple nights, but when someone like her comes knocking at your door? Would ya say no?”

_“Sam.”_

He shuts his mouth and he’s suddenly aware that Sully’s eyes have shifted just over his shoulder. Immediately, Sam gets the idea. His heart drops to his stomach. Slowly, he turns to find Y/N there, stock-still, the usual brightness in her eyes replaced by shock and tears.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Y/N-”

She turns on her heel and hurries in the other direction. Sam doesn’t stop to glance at Sullivan’s most likely both pitying and unpitying look. He bolts out of his chair and follows after her into her hotel room.

 _This is it,_ he thinks. _This is where it bites me in the ass._

Because God, she looks at him like he’s never seen her. She’s angry. She’s sad. She’s furious, and she is so obviously _heartbroken_. By the storm in her eyes and the tug in his chest, he wants to turn back time—to prevent his dumbass self from hurting her like he claimed he never would.

“Get out,” she murmurs. Then her eyes revert back to his, her hands forming into fists at her sides. “Take all your shit, and get out.”

Sam feels compelled by her piercing stare to move. But he is what he is: an asshole, for sure, but stubborn above all. So he stands his ground, hoping she catches the genuity in his eyes. He moves quick then, lowering himself to hook an arm around her legs and tossing her effortlessly over his shoulder.

She lets out a sound of surprise and then a series of feeble protests as he stalks out the door of her room. She pounds her fists against his back a few times, not as strong as he knows she can, and he can only hold back the grin in his mouth.

“Only doing what you said, kid,” he tells her smugly, adjusting his grip around her legs.

He hears her sigh of defeat, propping herself upright. “Sam, put me down,” she says, her voice quiet but stern.

He drops the light-hearted façade and obliges, stopping mid-way through the empty hall and placing her back on her feet. He meets her stare—less angry than it had been, but a certain disappoint still there. He sighs, reaching for her hands. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I know how low I stepped, but you gotta know that I-”

She laughs, except this time, it’s unlike the bright and chipper sound he’s gotten so ridiculously used to. It’s broken and dry and _he is the reason for it_. “You really gonna try to talk your way out of this?”

He swallows. “I don’t trust that I can.”

Y/N chuckles again, shaking her head. “No kidding.”

A silence falls between them. He can’t tear his gaze off of her, much like she has to him. He takes a wary step toward her, to which she responds to with a meager step backward. Her hands have uncurled, clutching her arm to her side.

“What am I to you, Sam?” she questions then. “The girl you hired not only for the convenience of treasure-hunting, but also for a convenient fuck?”

He shakes his head. “God, no, Y/N…”

“Then what?” she asks. It sounds as if she’s pleading with him. He knows that he has no way around it; why the hell had he been trying to this whole damn time?

“What you heard in there? I won’t deny it. You heard it right,” he carefully says. “But I wasn’t speaking out of my mind, or-or my-”

“I suppose you were speaking out of your ass, then.”

“That’s exactly it,” he agrees with an equally dry laugh. “‘Cause I’m an asshole who spouts out bullshit whenever he can’t communicate how he feels.”

Y/N meets his eyes now, brows knitted together and silent. She’s listening.

“I’m a coward,” Sam continues. “I said those things because I thought it was better to run from admitting just how I feel about you.”

She doesn’t need to ask, but from how she’s standing with her arms crossed, challenging him, he practically hears it.

He sucks in a breath. _Here it goes._ “I’m crazy for you,” he murmurs. “You’re on my mind every second of every moment of the day, and I… It scares the hell outta me.”

He exhales when he finishes, taking a step back and moving his stare to to floor. He takes the period of silence between them to comprehend what he’d just revealed to her. God, he’s an idiot. He’s a goddamn idiot.

He hardly notices that she’s moved closer to where he stands.

“You’re such a piece of shit,” she says, hardly above a whisper. She reaches up, taking his cheeks in her hands and forcing his eyes back to hers. “I’m just as crazy for you, too. Can’t you see that?”

A smile is tugging on her lips, except it’s barely there. Sam stands in disbelief, itching to touch her, but he feels as if he is too stunned to. “You are?”

She scoffs, the smile finally breaching across her features. “I don’t spout as much bullshit as you do.”

He laughs then, taking the liberty of pulling her into his arms and burying his face into her shoulder. He takes her in—the scent of roses in her hair, the smoothness of her skin. Would it be appropriate to call her his yet?

“I’m sorry,” he mutters into her skin.

“You’re forgiven,” she mutters back.

They stand like that for a few minutes more before Sully emerges from his room, clearing his throat.

“I take it all is well?” he inquires.

Sam peels himself from Y/N, unable to contain the grin on his mouth.

“You two are as predictable as they come,” Sully jests. “Now get your asses back in here. We got work to do."


End file.
